Restless
by Alice Wednesday
Summary: She was his eclipse, and he was blind in the dark. He thought he could love her forever, but can you live without a sun?


"_Blemishes are hidden by night and every fault forgiven; darkness makes any woman fair_" - Ovid

* * *

Sometimes I wonder if I really lost her. I question, did I ever actually have her? I don't know the answer to that. The answer shouldn't matter so much. It's a lazy summer day in the park, nothing should really matter. I sit, and watch kids play in a fountain, teenagers lick ice cream cones, and hurried parents rush past with strollers. It's the same old scene in Forks but on a Seattle scale. I am restless.

Life is funny, tricky, it rushes by and goes so slowly all at once that thinking about it gives you a headache. I've seen a lot of death. I've seen a lot of life. And I've seen those broken people in between life and death, not quite sure what way is west and what way is east. I am not wise beyond my years. I've never been wise.

* * *

I look at the papers in front of me, _they're real_, I keep telling myself. "They're real," the words get lost somewhere between my bookcase and liquor cabinet. I pick up my pen, although I have no intention to sign them… yet, and the inevitability of the outcome further increases my headache. I instead place my signature on more pressing documents, contracts, statements, anything other than those papers. It's meditating.

Eventually though the skyscraper city of files is demolished, and all that's left is the one form, thin, light, and strong enough to shatter my life into tiny little pieces. Although really that happened months ago, this is just the 'legal stuff' spoken in light hearted voices, and carefree tones like it doesn't matter, never matters. It's the symbolism though, the weighty symbolical implications, suddenly I'm painfully aware of how much I'll miss the feel of the cool gold ring on my left hand. I sit back, it's half eleven, I twist it back and forth and reflect.

* * *

On the coastline of Washington the small town of Forks sits, a town where no one ever does anything, and no one ever really goes anywhere. Homebody couples and older people looking for the quiet life live here. It's not the right place or the right time for me, or for her, so why she moved here is anyone's guess. She looks around as if she's constantly surprised, that everything is new, but underneath that she's bored, restless, but you can only see it at certain angles. She's in grey skinny jeans and a white tank top, it's a warm day for a grey sky. With her smoky eyes she looks like she belongs on the back of a motorcycle, or and underground rock gig that's gotten out of hand.

I'd like to see her…

Out of hand, out of control, and out of her mind.

Instead the bell rings, the world doesn't like to align itself to my wants.

I follow Jasper to German, fuck knows why we took it, I've already decided on Medicine, and Jasper Psychology. This is our skive class. I don't see her until Biology.

(_No, not true_.)

I see her at lunch, but across a crowded cafeteria isn't really where we first met. We met in Biology, if only a small 'Hi' before turning back to our work.

I notice small things about her over the year, she likes strawberry shampoo, when she's confused she screwed her eyes to angry slits, and she has a penchant for doing notes before class, and spending class writing lyrics and doodles in her notebook. I often wondered why she showed up to class at all.

I wasn't… stalking her, I wasn't obsessed either… but I wasn't uninterested. We talked, got on pretty well as classroom friends, but that was it, she didn't show interest, and by the end of the year she was more restless than she was when she arrived.

But then Forks can do that to you. Forks does do that to you.

* * *

There's a knock at my door, I open my eyes, quarter to twelve. "Come in," I want to yell 'Go away.' It's Dr Biers. Just Riley. Just Riley walks in the room, a worried look on his face and a file in his hands. "Yes, Biers?" I ask. An image of a man's lungs are held in the air.

"There was a small dot on the x-ray, I wasn't sure if it was a smudge, or something else," I look at him frustrated. We both know he's past this hand holding stage.

"Let's see it," I say wearily, I stand to look at it. It just takes a glance, I don't know who he is, or what he does, but he's going to die, just as clear as I will sign these papers. "You know as clear as I do Biers, this man will not make it to spring," I say softly. I feel the man deflate a little.

"I just hoped…" I move behind my desk again.

"Hoped what? That the next time you looked at the x-ray it would change? You're a doctor Biers, you need to get used to the idea that people die, whether you like it or not, otherwise what's the point in being a doctor?" I ask, not harshly, but I can't mollycoddle him anymore.

"Yes sir," he says quietly, and leaves the office. Now there's nothing left between me and the papers, it is seven minutes to twelve.

* * *

It's a hot afternoon, one of the last days before graduation, we're sitting in classes doing nothing because we've already done our exams. She sits next to me, still drawing, still writing, still restless. I want to speak to her, before the bell rings and I lose my chance. "Worked out where you're going next year?" I ask, it's a common enough question, a safe question, and by the way her shoulders slump, a boring one.

"I'm doing English Lit at Yale, yourself?" she leans back in her chair, and looks me square in the eyes, her confidence, her apathy is unnerving. Then I register her words.

"Medicine, at Yale," her eyebrows raise.

"Well I guess I'll be seeing you on campus then," and her mouth twitches, like she's going to smile. But then the bell rings.

To this day I like to think she was smiling.

* * *

Emmett McCarthy is holding a massive leaving party. Although we're not really leaving. We'll all be back here in the summer. Jasper, and I are the only two going to Yale, Rosalie's going to CalTech, Emmet to the University of California, Alice is going to New York University. As I said though, we'll be back in the summer. It gets out of hand, most parties do, I'm subconsciously looking for her.

I see her by the stairs, in the shadows, a cigarette burning between her fingers. She smells of smoke and a perfume I can't identify but find intoxicating. "Alright there, Masen?" she asks, her voice is husky, she takes another drag. I am drunk. As I walk closer to her I see that she's more than drunk, high, but not quite flying. Her eyes are flat, dead, and I don't think I've ever seen something so scary.

"I'm always alright," I say with an awkward smile, well aware that I'm speaking to this other being, this beautiful person, amazed she wants to spend five minutes with Edward 'braceface' Masen. Then I remember that she has never seen me with braces. The chatter is loud, and the music is louder, and she suddenly moves, leans in closer to me.

"Upstairs," she whispers, and grabs my hand.

The music is dimmer up here, and we sit on the bed, fresh drinks in hand. We finish them before we talk. She tells me she's excited about college, she tells me she's sick of this town, she tells me a lot of things I can and can't remember. Then she cocks her head and smiles. It's radiance, it's the sun, and the stars and home all in one and suddenly I reach forward and kiss her. Before I realise what I'm doing she's kissing me back, leaning over me, and I don't mind her taking control.

She removes her top, and unbuttons my shirt, I'm hesitant. It's not that I've never done it, only once, with Kate, before she moved to Alaska. This is different though, her movements are surer, dominant and wild, more exciting. And I try to keep up.

Afterwards we lie together, she is resting on my chest. In the moonlight I see a massive wolf tattoo on her back, russet and wise looking. She sees me staring, but says nothing, and I wonder if I'll ever know. The party is still as loud. Half an hour later we get dressed, she gives me a small smile and leaves. By the time I get downstairs I know she's left. I drown myself in any bottle that's passing.

The memory comes back to me, as a day later, my father tells me it's sad to hear Police Chief Swan died of lung cancer two days before.

I thought everyone knew everything in Forks.

* * *

First semester flew by, I didn't see her, and for a second I wondered if she was really going to Yale, or if she'd dropped out. I didn't go home that Christmas, I had too many exams. I returned halfway through first year, back home, and nothing had changed, and everyone was the same as before, it's peaceful, content, and I think perhaps I won't lose touch with them after all.

* * *

The next time I see her is a club, The Beach, supposedly modern, supposedly cool, compared to LA it's a children's paddling pool. However I see her, and she's dancing, alone. She's still as restless, still as wild, and I want to wrap my arms around her and sway with her, kiss her, tame her if just for a little while. I approach her, my confidence has grown this past year.

We end up going home again, a rushed night, too fast, but the morning is slower, lazier, more productive. We agree to meet, just for a coffee, as just friends. I wonder what it would be like to fuck her sober.

"Are you enjoying Yale?" she asks, coffee mug floating midair. I tell her I am. I ask her if she is. "It's… alright, quiet, I moved around a lot with my mom so… it's strange to be in one place for so long," she's holding back.

"You were in Forks for more longer than this," I point out. Her eyes flash, her mouth thins a fraction, the she smiles that quirky smile.

"Forks was stasis, at least small things happen here," and I want to as her what she means but she changes the subject quickly. "Have you found a place to live next year?"

"Union Street, with Jasper Whitlock and a few others from our courses, yourself?"

"Just down the road at Angels Square, perhaps I'll run into you sometime," she says with another smile, her fingers drumming on the table to a rhythm only she knows.

"Perhaps I will" I say with a small smile, my heart bursting at the thought of a promise.

* * *

I didn't see her for the rest of the semester. Or summer for that matter, although I knew she was in Forks. We all returned though, smarter, wiser and just as immature. The only difference was now Alice and Jasper hugged for longer. It occured to me I'm the only singleton in the group. Then I would think of Bella, and I didn't mind.

* * *

It's snowing heavily, and Carlisle and Esme all but forced me into town for veggies - Christmas is tomorrow and Esme forgot to buy carrots. I see her on the outskirts of town, by herself, and without realising it I'm just a few feet away from her. The bag isn't heavy in my arms, I forget it's there. She is crying. I place it on the ground and walk towards her slowly. "Isabella? Bella?" I say softly, she turns to look at me. Her nose is slightly red, the rest of her is chalk white and I wonder how long she's been out here for. Next thing I know I'm cradling her in my arms as she cries, awkwardly patting her back, I've never see her so vulnerable. Suddenly she pushes me away.

The anger on her face surprises me.

"Fuck off!" she says violently.

"Bella?" I ask, confused.

"Just fuck off!" I don't move "Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off!" she screams so loud that people from the street across look over. I pick up my forgotten shopping bag and leave the cemetery quickly, before someone comes over. My last glimpse is of her standing over her father's grave, snow almost blinding my vision, then, I turn and head home.

I half expect her to die out there. And it isn't until I was in my room I notice the ache in my chest and the pounding in my head. It is the first time I see she isn't perfect.

She is completely broken, alone, and scared. And that night, I ask, wish, Father Christmas would give me the glue and tape needed to fix her. But Santa Claus doesn't exist.

She shows up at my house on Christmas, my parents had invited her. She is polite, quiet, she isn't restless, she isn't alive. She is tired. We don't talk about yesterday. Yesterday did not happen. Its a good Christmas, different, but good.

* * *

We talked in second year, became friends in third year. And suddenly she showed up at my door, mid semester forth year with a smile on her face, and eyes that sparkled. She was alive again, rejuvenated, and I smiled as she kissed me, and I smiled as we entered a relationship. It's everything I've ever wanted.

* * *

She is lying on the bed, sprawled out on the sheets. I walked towards her, "It's a beautiful day out," I say, she doesn't respond. Then, she whimpers slightly, her brow furrows and an mumbles incoherence- no, truth.

"You're going to be okay, we'll get an amb- yes you'll… please stay," she lets out a strangled cry, fists beating against the small bed.

"Bella," I move to wake her up. She wakes suddenly, a name dies on her lips. I ignore it. "You were having a nightmare. She sits up, rubs her face, and brushes her fingers through her hair. She is listless, she is still restless. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," her voice is quiet but firm.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask, she looks at my, then looks puzzled for a second.

"I don't really remember it, I just feel… you know, shaken like you do after a nightmare," she gives me a timid look.

If I really want to I could see through that.

Then again, I don't really want to.

"What shall we do today?" she asks, and lies back on the bed. For a moment I'm distracted by her naked body, perky breasts and smooth ivory skin.

"Uh…" the window grabs my eye. "It's a lovely day outside, wanna get pizza then go for a walk?" she deliberates.

"Pizza and walk sounds good," she stands, and wraps her arms round me. Then she kisses me, slow, soft, inticing. "I love you," she whispers, she isn't looking at me, but I don't notice this at first.

We got pizza, we went for a walk. We almost got arrested for splashing people with the fountain in the park. I loved her laugh, her childlike fun. She comes up to me randomly and embraces me, we play hide and seek, we make love behind a hedge in the warm night, then laugh like children. Life is beautiful.

* * *

She amazed me, she astounded me and I couldn't get enough of her, didn't want to get enough of her. Me and Jasper graduated, then we headed to New York _New York!_ The Big Apple. The city that never sleeps. Bella came with, and we moved a few blocks away from each other.

We all got jobs eventually, enjoyed our work, being a doctor was hard but rewarding I think. When we turned twenty six we moved in together. Life was simple.

* * *

"You're late," she says quietly, looking at me disapproving and sad all at once, the sounds of cutlery against plates and murmurs of talking swirl around us.

"I'm sorry the hospital had me held up," I say placing my jacket on the back of my chair.

"Shall we order?" she asks, scanning the menu, I don't look, I'll have what she's having. She tells me about her day, how the kids react to The Great Gatsby, how none of them knows what a quatrain is, or cares for Macbeth. Words pour out of her mouth between bites, but her eyes still dance, and I am still captivated.

"I want to ask you something?" I say, inbetween the main and desert.

"Shoot," she says, a small smile playing on her lips, and for a second I think she knows. It happens quickly. Down on one knee, ring in hand.

"Will you marry me?" I ask. The answer doesn't come quickly, it doesn't even come slowly. It's the pause, the sound of silence between the question mark and the answer that unnerves me.

Second thoughts?

Doubts?

I push them aside.

I focus on the yes.

We take dessert to go. We don't even make it to the bedroom. We fuck like it's the end of the world on the apartment floor.

We we're in Forks in time for the rain to stop, and the flowers to bloom. It is a small wedding, a quiet affair, she is beautiful. Her dress is simple crème with flowers and flares. Her cheeks are rouged, her lips pinked, her eyes smoulder, she is beautiful. We say our vows in my parents back garden, with our closest friends and family, so naturally half the town. Her mother is over emotional, and demands a dance from me. I can't refuse, Bella has danced with my mother and father. The afternoon sun hits us while Renee tells me how I will be good for Bella, how I will calm her down, tame her. I tell her I hope to do this. But as I look over her mother's shoulder, I see Bella, sitting in a moment alone. Her eyes wander flat, her gaze impartial, she is somewhere else, she is restless. And this hurts more than it should.

I am almost angry with her, even after a beautiful honeymoon in the Caribbean, even after she spent it laughing and holding me, because when she places her bag in our apartment with a final thud an oppressive nature takes over. She is married now. Un-liberated. And as I kiss her lips, and her eye lids closed I feel like an oppressor, the bad guy. I feel silent screams and frustrated moans. I love her, I love her I… my thoughts and worries are lost as we orgasm. Besides this is one of those small events, I remind myself as we life naked together, half asleep and perfectly content. "Do you love me?" she asks suddenly, her voice clear and I frown.

"What? Of course I do, what brought this on?" I ask, looking at her, but she's staring at my chest.

"Nothing."

"Look at me Bella," I reach out to touch her face, she looks up at me and gives me a small slow smile, different from usual, ten times more beautiful.

_She is broken, she is broken, sheisbrokenbrokenbroken-_

"I love you Bella, with all my heart, and I always will," she looks like she wants to say something more, but she doesn't, instead she moves her head to one of the pillows. In a few minutes she's asleep. In a few minutes the words are lost.

* * *

I move from my chair, it is half past twelve. This hurts too much. I loved her so much, and I thought things could always be perfect. I look out over the city, it's my home I chose to settle here, I might not like it, I might not love it but I don't hate it. And it's not that she doesn't like it either, she just doesn't settle, and now we're old enough for me to see that I don't think she ever will. She got bored, and I refused to take of my rose tinted glasses. It's so clear now. And I think that's what hurts the most.

I don't want to sign.

She will make me sign.

* * *

"We need to talk Bella," my voice is grave, the kitchen is dark, there's a cigarette burning in her hands, there's been too many half empty liquor bottles recently.

"About what?" her voice is as husky as it once was. It doesn't turn me on anymore.

"I know you think about him," she looks up at me, her eyes dead.

"Who?" I sigh and invade her small world, I don't intend to put the light on.

"I'm not playing games Bella, I'm too tired," she flicks her cigarette, ash falls onto the table cloth Esme got us.

"Of course I think about my father Edward, it's better than blocking him out," I shake my head.

"This is different Bella, you're down all the time, you're drinking way more than you should, you-"

"I'm not living up to what you want me to be? Is that what you're trying to say? I'm not perfect, I'm not fixable, or unfixable."

"I'm not saying that Bella. I'm not. I just think you should speak to someone."

"I'm talking to you," she mocks, and pours herself another glass.

"A shrink Bella" I say impatiently.

"Stop treating me like a child!" she doesn't whine she snaps.

"I'm not" I say calmly.

"You're patronising, you're suffocating!" she smacks her fist on the table and stands "I'm tired of this Edward, I'm tired of feeling I can't live up to your expectations!" I shake my head.

"I don't have expectations, Bella!" my voice is rising, I need to, have to, get through to her.

"You don't say them, but you think them, I can feel it," she whispers "Here," she motions her hands around her "I feel them all the time, it's killing me," her voice is a whisper now. I walk towards her, slow tentative steps, I invade her world and hold her in my arms.

"I hate you when you drink," I murmur.

"I hate you," she says quietly. A small part of me registers that isn't drunk talk.

The next morning, against advice I dismiss it as such.

* * *

Things started to fragment slowly, quickly, slowly. I pulled longer hours, she would disappear for hours then return, drunk usually, eyes defiant, wild, and I didn't want to tame her anymore. Her emotions, her love, she was too passionate, too raw, too broken. I couldn't fix that. I was stupid to think I could. I was naïve to think I wanted to. But I didn't want to lose her.

Everyone else we knew was settling down, starting families and going to the Next Stage. I broached the subject of children. I didn't see her for three days. She came back smelling of cheap vodka and cigarettes. I never spoke of it again.

* * *

I am holding him in my hands. Little Alec Brandon Whitlock. He giggles. He is beautiful. I tell Jasper, and can feel the proud, happy grin on his face.

"You should see him when he cries, you'll take it back then," his voice is thick with emotion. I hand him back to his father.

"Is it as rewarding as they say?" I ask, he looks at me, knowing I'm not okay.

"Yeah, it definitely is Edward," he puts Alec back in his pushchair. "So, you, Arizona, do you think you'll have kids soon?" he asks. I shake my head.

"I don't know. I spoke to her about it, she didn't take it well…" that is an understatement. I sit back and let the sun's weak spring rays soak down on me. Jasper rocks the pushchair back and forth.

"Are things okay with you guys?" he asks, our struggles have not gone unnoticed.

"It's…" I look at him _really bad-_ "I don't want to talk about it," this is the safest option. "Are you planning on having more?" he looks thoughtful, then grins a little.

"Possibly, but Alice wants to get back to work first, for a few years at least, you know, it's a major life change, everything changes," he says softly.

"I think Bella's afraid of the change," I say softly. Jasper looks at me, square in the eyes with a blunt honesty that catches me off guard. I forget he's a psychologist.

"Just don't kid yourself into thinking you're ready for this too, Edward, it's not all her fault."

* * *

I thought of his words for a few weeks. I wasn't ready for kids, but I knew I wanted some, eventually. On nights when she still stayed over I'd see her give me strange looks from across the living room, little, knowing looks like she was always one step ahead of me. Or that I'm three paces behind. She never said anything.

* * *

I don't register her words at first. Slow, certain. I make her repeat them. Then, I try to change my mind. But I know she's made her mind up. She won't have said it unless she meant it. She's gotten into post study, Arizona, I won't transfer. I argue, then I give up. I don't know if I want it. If I don't. She's made up my mind for me, and at least I have her to be bitter for that.

I go home for the weekend. I see my parents in the kitchen. It occurs to me, for the first time, the grey hairs, the crow feet... they're old. They love each other. Their marriage looks like foreign customs of an unknown tribe. Most nights me and Bella don't sleep in the same apartment anymore. I speak to them, then I don't. Forks is the same, always the same. And I want that. I want that peace, that calm, that love. I don't have that. I don't know if I ever had.

I woke up this morning, lying in the empty apartment, listening to the cars pass. Love making and screams of rage simultaneously crash down on me. The decision is clear. I can't fight her. I never could.

I woke up this morning. I am thirty three. Almost middle aged. Always tired. Still full of idiotic notions of love. Married to a woman I scarcely know on a good day.

* * *

I turn back to the desk, and sit on the chair, but don't pick up the pen. I don't want to admit it yet.

A knock on my door, certain, loud, it's her. It's one. She enters when I call, and closes the door softly behind her. She's wearing the scratchy blue jumper from high school, baggy blue jeans and sneakers, on her back is a backpack. I don't think she's ever looked more beautiful, more exotic. It occurs to me I feel nothing for her. Not anymore. She sits, her eyes roam around the room, then she looks at me.

"You've signed the papers?" she asks.

"Almost," I say quietly, and she gives a smile, not unlike the one she used to. I've missed that smile. I pick up the pen, re-read the document I could recite backwards.

I sign.

I fall…

But it doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. I put the pen down and look at her. She hasn't aged, not really. But I feel older, and she isn't what I once thought.

"Thank you," she says quietly, her voice clear, her words smile. She is restless.

"You never told me, why you got that wolf tattoo," I say casually, because casual stops my voice from cracking.

"It was because of a friend, he was like the sun… he died in a motorcycle crash," her face is white, she bites her lip.

"You've never told me that until now," I say quietly.

"It's never came up, not properly, he died before I came to Forks anyway," I nod.

"I'm sorry."

"It was years ago," she says quietly. Do years really mean anything?

"Were you ever happy with me?" I ask, it's been bugging me for awhile. Bella smiles.

"You were everything I could have asked for Edward, everything I could have wanted and for that I love you, for that I was happy. I was happy with you for what you could have been for me. But I didn't want these things, I just wanted to try and be normal…"

"And now?" I prompt, the lump in my throat rises. She looks up at me, strained.

"Now I just want to be by myself, I wasn't happy in the end Edward, and neither were you if you look close enough. I couldn't drag you down with me," anger flares up in me a little.

"Are you trying to convince yourself that this is noble?" I ask. She sighs, and makes to stand.

"No Edward, because it isn't noble, but it's smart," she takes the papers from my desk "I'm happy that you've done this for me, grateful," she gives one last smile, then turns for the door.

"Bella!" I call, she turns and looks at me quizzically.

"You said your friend, that he was like the sun?" I ask "Why like the sun?"

"We dated, I loved him," the silence finishes it for me '_I wanted to marry him_'.

She turns to leave again.

This time I don't stop her.

A small bubble of emotion rises from my chest, my throat, to my mouth. A strangle cry comes out, then… laughter. It's hysterical, and tears role down my cheeks, and I laugh harder, more tears. I don't bother trying to calm myself down.

* * *

I took a week off work and spent five of those days drunk. By the fifth day I wasn't sure if I was celebrating singledom, or mourning matrimony. In the end I settled for a little piece of both. We didn't speak often, scratch that, it's too optimistic, we didn't speak.

* * *

Tanya Cullen, oncology, one year my junior. We meet in ER. We meet formally in a coffee shop. We meet again in restaurants, and cinema's, and occasionally amusement parks. One day she stands before me in a white dress. We are in New York, our families surround us. She walks down the isle in blinding white, a simple, beaded dress. Her blonde hair shines, her face is brimming with emotions. She is beautiful.

I repeat the vows I repeated ten years ago, she takes my hand, firm, certain and soft. We kiss, it burns with love and promise, happiness and peace. It's passionate but not fiery, its something I can get used to. I dance with her mother, while she tells me how she loved the decoration. Over her shoulder I see Tanya, sitting by herself in a moment's calm. She is peaceful. I am content.

The day later she is Tanya Masen. I am thirty six years old. We leave for a honeymoon in France, amongst a language we don't understand, musicians crying and cars passing we make love, fall in love. "I love you," she whispers, it's the first thing in the morning. It's the first time I've been woken up with an 'Iloveyou'. She's smiling, glowing, she holds me steadily.

"I love you too," my voice is croaky from sleep. We spend the day wandering parks, and museuems. At night we take a boat ride on the Seine, the lights of the city make her shine like an angel. But I can touch her, and feel her.

She is loveable. She is funny, smart, she makes me laugh, I know her like I know myself. I know her as though I've known her my whole life, before that even. She is peace. Content. She is never restless, we argue, but not often, we live in the same apartment, soon house.

_I still think about Bella-_

I think about Bella occasionally, regret and anger wash over me. Regret that I do not speak to her now. Anger that I was so naïve about her. I hope, now, that I am less naïve.

Most days I think Tanya is my sun.

* * *

We cross paths once again, in a park, in Washington. I am here for a reunion of Jasper, Alice, Emmett and Rosalie. We are in Seattle this time. Forks isn't big enough to house our families.

This time I see she has aged, more noticeably than last time. But she is still beautiful, in her own way. She stops when she sees me, we both sort of walk over to each other. "Hi," it's uncertain.

"Hello," she says quietly. "How have you been?" she asks.

"Alright, yourself?" I ask.

"Good, I've been in Europe," a small breeze blows past, it's unseasonably cold.

"Promoting your new book?" I ask, she shakes her head.

"Just travelling, wandering," her mouth twitches like she's going to smile.

She doesn't smile.

We stand in silence for a minute, and I think of everything, anything, I have to say to her.

"I got re-married," I blurt out, although I'm not sure why. She raises her eyebrows.

"That's great, really great," she smiles "I'm happy for you."

"We have a daughter, Jane, she's two," I add. She is still smiling. I feel like a child showing off at show and tell.

"I'm glad things worked out for you Edward, really," she pauses, we both pause, because this feels unfinished, it doesn't feel right.

"Are you travelling again? Or returning home?" I ask, she cocks her head to the side, as if asking whether she really has a home.

"Travelling again, this time I think to Asia, it helps me think."

I can't explain it. But standing in the sunny park, with a small cold wind cutting through me, it occurs to me that this is the last time I will see her. Its as if she knows it as well.

Before I can stop myself my mouth is on hers, kissing her, holding her, feeling her one last time. She reciprocates. A lifetime flashes through my head in perfect order. It's all her, it's always been her! We could run away now, never look back, never think, just... I stop thinking the thoughts of a madman.

We draw apart.

I open my eyes, she doesn't thrill me anymore, doesn't excite me, she is everything I should stay away from, and in this moment everything I ever have or will want, desire, but will never be able to love. She frustrates me. She has _destroyed_ me. I tell her so.

"You've destroyed me," I whisper quietly, while mesmerising the forgotten way her face points like a pixie. At this she smiles again but not out of satisfaction.

"Your wife is your sun, like Jake was mine, fitting like we are meant to. But we are each other's eclipse. We shroud each other in darkness, trap our unhappiness and grievances, hide what we really want and blind us to each other's imperfectability for each other," she says quietly. I never thought we'd be saying goodbye for a second time. Yet everything she says rings true, rings right.

We stand and let the cold wind chill us. We leave without saying goodbye.

* * *

I was right. I didn't see her again. She returned from Asia, wrote a new book, I have it in paperback and hard. The newspapers speculate she died of alcohol poisoning, or an overdose. I haven't seen the coroners report, but I knew why she died. I think I am the only one. She'd been in the dark for so long, so lost, so lonely, and you can only live so long without a sun. Eventually she gave up and went to sleep with the night.

* * *

I look at my wife's now frail breaths from the hospital bed. Machines beep, doctor's rush past.  
My sun is dying.  
I wonder when I will be in the dark.

* * *

I walk a lot now. Despite my age. Move, keep moving. I feel… restless. I only feel properly at peace in that hospital room, where doctors speak quietly, and my wife rarely wakes. After a few months of this, I am surprised Bella held on for so many years. My dark is weary though, she was there so long she adapted, time wore it down, but it took a hell of a long time.

The sun died two weeks ago, and now she will be put into the ground. Emmett, Jasper, Alice and Rosalie stand next to me, with our children and grandchildren. We live Forks, rainy Forks. Moving there when the rest of the world got too fast for us to keep up. It is peaceful, relaxing, monotonous, and everything I thought I never wanted. I see now why people lived there. Nothing ever happens, and that is good, we all know each other, and we are all tired here. When I feel up to it I go travelling, sometimes for days at a time. Most days my thoughts stray to my sun. Sometimes the pattern changes.

* * *

I am sitting on a bench in Seattle. It is a warm day. The sun is out. I like the anonymity of the place, the bustle is quiet enough for me not to mind, for a little while. I am eighty six years old. For a second I see myself as a younger man, restless, searching. My eyes roam faster than my now frail body can carry me. I am restless. I am not content today, not peaceful, I am in the sun but I am cold. I wonder if this is what she felt like. Always cold, always restless. Sometimes I imagine I will run into her on a journey, still young, still restless, because she isn't dead, not really

I never think of the end. It doesn't scare me, but I don't squander my last days with those thoughts. Instead I ponder idle thoughts. My life, love and my drowning desire. Most of my days end with the same question. A question I still cannot answer. I think she spent most of her life trying to figure it out. One life, one love, a sun, and an eclipse. Who wins really?

I wake up, with the sun, and the questions on my lips. I turn to sleep in the cold dark, it is numbing, hiding, it offers no answers. It's not a question I can really answer. I sit in the sun, but I am cold.

Then I think I see her, suddenly, across the park! Brown hair, drifting eyes, much younger, just as beautiful. Everyone has always been so beautiful. I move away from her, and again let my gaze wander. I look back, and she is gone. She was never there.

I lost her. I never _had_ her.

Drowning in my eclipse.

I am restless.

* * *

**I honestly don't know where this came from, I just started writing it and then it was there. I never they would never end up together in the end, and I visualised their relationship as one of longing for each other, unable to resist one another, but not loving each other, at least not at the end. And Edward's love for Bella was more everything he thought he would want, everything he never could have, and in the end everything he never wanted anyway, but couldn't let go of. Also I decided on some role reversal, so this time Bella is seen as an immortal and Edward the fragile human. I hope this makes sense, please read and review and I apologise for any grammar and or spelling mistakes.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Twilight.**


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